Forgotten Phase
by CrackPairingAddict
Summary: Therapy is good for the soul. Vlad doesn't agree. *Canon*
1. Confession Session

"Therapy is, perhaps, how to answer your recent health problems," Doctor Foley said, guiding Vlad Masters through the hospital's reception room. "Perhaps even an answer to some of your _other_ problems as well."

"Maurice, I can _assure_ you that I am in _no_ need of therapy..." Vlad protested, clacking along next to the doctor. "Do I _look_ like a man with problems?"

"Appearances mean nothing," Maurice murmured, walking over to a door and opening it for Vlad, who went inside.

Sitting down on Doctor Foley's couch, Vlad mumbled, "So everybody says..."

"You don't seem to agree."

"Are you _analyzing_ me, doctor?"

Maurice sat across from Vlad. "Why, _yes_, Vlad. I _am_."

Vlad muttered incoherently, swearing on pastries and other things which sounded just as delicious. "_Look_; if you're _going_ to do this, stop _babying_ around and ask your _damn_ questions."

"Therapy takes _time_, Vlad -- and patience." Maurice smiled. "And _patients_."

Vlad groaned. "Ha ha."

"But, if you _insist_, I will ask my _'damn questions'_." He held up air quotes, which only made Vlad roll his eyes. "What is the earliest childhood memory that you can recall?"

Vlad steepled his fingers, placing his forehead into the nook between his forefinger and thumb. "You _expect_ me to _remember_? Pffsht." Despite his remark, Vlad replied, "I was fourteen, and my family and I were snuggled together in the house."

"Your _family_? Could you be more _specific_?"

"My father, my sister, and I."

Maurice arched an eyebrow. "...What about your _mother_?"

"She _wasn't_ there."

"I sort of _gathered_ that. Do you know where she _was_?"

Vlad pulled away from his hands and began brushing them through his ponytail. "Haven't the faintest. In fact, I don't believe that I remember her ever being there..."

"...Did this effect you?"

"Are you _really_ that _stupid_? Of _course_ it effected me." He patted down any loose strand of hair he found, smoothing them into place. "I just learned to move on."

"Could you tell me _more_ about your childhood, Vlad?" Maurice asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"I could."

"..._Will_ you?"

"_Yes_, doctor, I _will_ answer your ridiculous questions."

Maurice sighed. "You said this was when you were fourteen. Are you _sure_ that's the furthest back you can remember?"

"Yes, doctor. I'm positive."

"...Vlad, I think that you're blocking out some painful memory."

"Or, perhaps, I'm just a forty-year-old man who can't remember things that happened thirty years ago."

Maurice rolled his eyes. "Do you _have_ to be so _stubborn_?"

"Do _you_ have to be so _anal_?"

"Vlad, can you _please_ bare with me here?"

Vlad sat up straight, folding his hands in his lap. "_Sorry_, doctor. I'll be a good little boy."

"_Good_. Now can I --"

"My _God_, you thought I was _serious_? Can't you hear _sarcasm_, doctor?"

"_Vlad_. If I _may_?"

"_Yes_, doctor, _please_ continue. I'm _so_ interested in what you have to say."

"...What was your _father_ like?"

Vlad put his hand to his forehead, leaning against the wall. "Oh, doctor! It was _terrible_! _Every_ night, he would take a _whip_ and _beat_ me across the back! _Oh_, the pain! _Oh_, the agony!"

Maurice groaned. "Can you be _serious_ with me, Vlad? _Please_?"

Vlad grimaced. "Well, what is there to _say_? He was _just_ my _father_. Nothing _important_ to be said there..."

"It doesn't seem like you thought too highly of him."

"There was nothing to think highly _of_. He was just sort of..._there_."

"What do you mean?"

Vlad laid back on the couch, stretching his neck. "What I _mean_ is that he and I never really conversed much. The only talking we ever did was 'Hello,' 'Love you,' 'Goodnight,' or 'Goodbye.'"

"_Really_? Don't you think that was ever a _problem_?"

"Of _course_ it was." Vlad spread himself out, getting comfortable. "But nothing I did ever changed that. Even if I said something to him, I could hardly ever get much of a response. He didn't _hate_ me; he was just..._there_."

"That sounds pretty terrible."

"Eh."

"...Eh?"

"Eh."

"_Ugh_." Maurice leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Is that _all_ you have to say about your father?"

"_Well_...he _always_ got me what I asked for during the holidays. He _never_ questioned my wishes... he merely got me whatever it is that had made my list that year."

"Is that a _bad_ thing?"

"_Personally_, I would have to say that it _was_." Vlad turned over on his side, away from Maurice. "I could have asked for a _damn_ pack of _cigars_ and they would have been under the tree with my name on them..."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm _saying_, doctor, that he didn't _care_." Vlad flicked his wrist above his head, gesturing to Maurice what not caring looked like. "He just got me whatever would get me to shut up."

"...Am I sensing _hostility_?"

"_No_, doctor -- you're spidey sense is just malfunctioning."

Doctor Foley sighed. "Growing up, did you ever try and change this?"

"Oh, yes. _Plenty_ of times."

"And...?"

"And? _And_? It didn't work, that's what!" Vlad clenched and unclenched his fists, calming himself down. "I tried pleasing him, but he never rewarded me...I tried to anger him, but he never scolded me, either..."

"So, you feel that you didn't get enough attention."

"Yes, that's what I'm saying..." Vlad agreed.

"And your _sister_? Did _she_ get any _more_ attention?"

"Nope." Vlad rolled onto his back, crossing his arms behind his head. "In fact, she went a bit mad during her Senior year. She strung herself out on drugs and got herself killed."

Maurice stared at Vlad in surprise, but Vlad just kept talking: "My father and I went to her funeral. Neither of us cried. We didn't talk about it. Life went on."

"I'm...I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, _please_. No you're not." Vlad stretched his arms above his head, before letting them lie on his chest. "You're just trying to cure some nonexistant depression."

"Well, Vlad, even if I'm _not_ sorry about your sister's death -- which I _am_ -- I would be sorry that _you_ were not sorry."

Vlad groaned."Are we almost _finished_, doctor?"

"_Yes_, Vlad. In _fact_," he looked over his shoulder, at the clock, "we've been finished for about twenty minutes."

Vlad stood from the couch, heading toward the door. "Oh, God, I've just wasted twenty extra minutes of my life...A shame to know that I'll never get them back."

As Maurice watched him leave, he somehow doubted that those twenty minutes were really wasted. And he also had a feeling that Vlad would come back to see him again.

But perhaps that was just his spidey sense malfunctioning again.


	2. Malady Melody

At the end of his shift, not very long after Vlad had left, Maurice bundled up and began heading for home. Vlad's session nagged at him as he walked through the icy pathways in front of the hospital, but he tried pushing it aside as he flopped into his small sedan.

Even after he had drove home, however, the thought of Vlad was still haunting his mind. _And that was only a __glimpse__ of his childhood..._

"_Maurice_, honey, you're _home_!" His wife wrapped her arms around him, lavishing his neck with currently undesirable kisses. "Welcome back! I made meat loaf again tonight, I hope you don't mind..."

"No, no, it's fine..." he mumbled. "Say, where's Tucker?"

"Oh, Tucker? He went to his friend's house for dinner." She frowned. "Why? Did you need to talk to him?"

"Um...no. It's just that, eh..." Maurice shook his head. "Oh, nevermind."

She arched an eyebrow, cocking her hip to the side. A housewife mannerism. Not good.

"_Nevermind_? What is it that I'm _never minding_?"

"Kim, don't worry. I'm just...a little upset, I guess."

Kim sat him down on a chair, vanishing into the kitchen as she said, "_Go on_..."

"It's nothing, really. Just one of my patients..." Maurice stood back up and took off his jacket, placing it on the coat rack. "Don't worry about it."

Kim came back into the dining room, carrying the tray of meat loaf with thick pot holders. "What in _Sam Hill_ does this have to do with our son?"

Maurice was silent for a moment, watching as his wife set down the tray. He was about to speak, but she cut him off short, saying, "In fact, why don't you start from the beginning? Who is this patient, anyway?"

He heaved a sigh, sitting himself down. "I think I've told you about him before. He's, eh, the one with anemia..."

"Yes, you've mentioned him a few times. What did you say his name was?"

"I _didn't_ say what his name was." Maurice loosened his tie, resting it on the back of the chair. "Kim, my work is confidential. You _know_ that."

Kim heaved a sigh, sitting down at the table. "Okay. So something happened with this guy. Tell me about it."

"Well... After I diagnosed him with anemia, I suggested that he go into therapy. 'It'll help,' I said. But he's a stubborn man. He refused. I pressed the matter, _insisting_ that he go into therapy. He says 'No,' I say 'Yes,' he says 'No,' I say 'Yes'... Finally, his manager calls him and tells him to get it over with so I'd stop nagging him."

Kim was already starting to lose interest, but she nodded anyway. "Go on..."

"So he follows me into my private office and I ask him a few questions. He complies...Sort of."

"Yeah. That's how therapy _works_, Maurice. What's so special about it?"

Maurice cut himself some meat loaf and put it on his plate, frowning. "I'm not sure. It's just that... some of the things that he said about his father... they reminded me of _myself_."

Kim was about to say something, but Maurice interrupted her: "Do I pay enough attention to Tucker?"

"Of _course_ you do! If anything, you pay too _much_ attention to him." She shook her head. "You worry about the _craziest_ things..."

He didn't seem convinced. "...Are you _sure_? I haven't been home very much lately..."

"Oh, it's _fine_, Maurice. Eat your meat loaf."

"Yes, ma'am..."

*******

Elsewhere, Vlad Masters was lying in one of his beds, cuddled under a thick blanket. It was only six thirty, but he felt too exhausted to do anything. Unfortunately, he couldn't get himself to sleep, either. So, instead, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling.

The phone had been ringing continuously ever since his return home twenty minutes ago, making sleep even less possible. Every time he checked the caller I.D, it said 'Manson, Jeremy.'

His manager. Blech.

Vlad curled up on his side, pulling the quilt over his head and burying it into the pillow, trying in vain to block out the noise.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

*******

Back in Amity Park, Jeremy snapped his cell phone shut. Again.

If his client wouldn't answer, so be it. He would just stop calling.

He tucked the phone away in his pocket, walking into the kitchen where his family was seated for dinner. He apologized for being late to the table, but his wife didn't seem very forgiving. As always.

His daughter, Sam, seemed more interested in him than her food. "Who do you keep calling?"

Jeremy frowned. _She's becoming her mother... _"Oh, just my client."

"Why is your client so important?" Pamela asked. "Your family is more important than him."

"He's been having some health problems," he explained to his wife. "I'm just worried, is all."

"You're being a little _ridiculous_, don't you think? Our family _needs_ you here, you know!"

"Yes, Pam, I know." He dished some pasta onto his plate, avoiding her stern gaze. "But I'm here now, aren't I?"

"I don't know anymore, Jerry. I just don't know." She stood from her chair, picking up her plate. "I'm going into the television room. Talk with each other."

It wasn't a suggestion.

*******

**Kimberly. Just to let you know, that's not an official name. Actually, it's just the name of her voice actor...** **It was the closest I could get to canon. Please forgive me...**


End file.
